Feudal Fury
by The Wicked Wench of the West
Summary: When a ghost appears in Danny's kitchen one morning, a simple fight seems to take care of the problem. But the problem follows him to school where Tucker and Sam are left to deal with screaming classmates, an irate ghost, and a less than coherent Danny.
1. Chapter 1

Rating for Danny torture and bad puns. Honestly, the violence is no worse than the show. Just more…prolonged. The fangirl inside me is giggling fiendishly. It's echoing strangely in my head.

Takes place before "Ultimate Enemy" because I had fun playing around with the "Jazz knows but Danny doesn't know she knows" scenario. And to all those DS fans out there—you'll get your kicks. HOWEVER, it will remain canon. No sudden proclamations of love or random kissing based _solely_ on the fact that both want to. Aaaaannnddd…on with the show:

**Disclaimer:** Danny Phantom does not belong to me. Wow. I think I'm going to shoot myself now. That, of course, could be a side effect of actually _writing_ Danny Phantom fanfiction. I mean…I…I _wrote_ Danny Phantom fanfiction. IT WAS THE PROZAC I SWEAR!

Enjoy.

* * *

"Danny. _Danny_. DANNY!"

Danny suddenly jerked out of his reverie, spilling half his bowl of cereal across the table.

"WAAAA! Jazz! I'm right here! You don't need to scream into my ear!"

"No, Danny," Jazz snapped. "I think I do. I've been calling your name for the past five minutes!"

"Oh," said Danny, grinning sheepishly. "Right then. What do you want?"

Jazz rolled her eyes. "If you don't finish your cereal, we're going to be late."

Danny glanced at the clock, then jerked out of his seat, hitting the table painfully and spilling the last half of his cereal. "Geez! Why didn't you say something!" he yelled, sprinting up the stairs.

Jazz managed a long-suffering sigh at his disappearing back. "I _did_." She glanced at the table and spotted the remains of Danny's breakfast, dripping sadly over the edge of the table. "Aw…_Danny_!" She grabbed a washcloth and began swiping angrily at the sopping mess. "Sure, I'd be _happy_ to clean your mess," she grumbled sarcastically to herself. Still, better than him being late to school. _Again._ Danny had certainly been late enough as it was, and he was _going_ to be on time for once. But he owed her one.

Their parents had rushed out the house half an hour earlier, Jack shouting "Ghost!" enthusiastically, Maddie tripping happily out the door after him. She had thrown a "make sure your brother gets to school!" over her shoulder to Jazz before disappearing, and, by heaven and hell and all between, little brother included, he was certainly going to.

_Or else._

"Danny!" she yelled again, looking at the clock and realizing how close they were going to be cutting it.

Danny appeared at the top of the stairs, backpack slung over one shoulder and running a hand through his hair as if it would somehow make his appearance look as if he hadn't just woken up.

He sprinted down the stairs. "What? What? I'm ready!"

"Uh-huh," she said, grabbing his shoulder to keep him from careening into the wall. She glanced at his shirt. "Your shirt's inside out, genius."

Danny blushed and pulled the offending article over his head. "I was in a bit of a rush," he stated defensively, still blushing. "_Someone_ kept screaming at me to hurry up."

Jazz rolled her eyes for the second time that morning and steered him toward the door as he finished pulling his shirt back over his head. "Whatever." She peered at the clock one last time. "Looks like we're in luck. We'll make it fine."

It's a well known fact that the closer Danny is to actually being somewhere on time, the more likely it is that his ghost sense will go off. So it shouldn't have come as a surprise when the familiar vapor escaped his mouth.

He was shocked anyways. "Uh…" he began suddenly, eyes darting around the room. "I, uh…suddenly my…" Jazz looked at Danny suspiciously. "HOMEWORK!" he shouted, making her jump halfway up the wall. "Homework! Yes, well, on my bed. Must grab it!"

Jazz stared at him for a second. "Um…are you feeling alright?"

"Duh!" he shouted again. "I just need to get it…on my own because, well, you should leave without me!"

Jazz narrowed her eyes. "Danny," she said dangerously, "If you're just trying to get out of school because Mom and Dad aren't here…"

"No!" he shouted. "I just need my homework! Really! Now go away!"

"Danny," Jazz argued, "We don't have time for thiiIIAAAA! I mean, TIME!" she yelled into a shocked Danny's face. "I…uh…suddenly realize I have to be at school 30 seconds earlier than usual! Uh, gottagobye!" She jumped out the front door, closing it with a slam.

"Well _that_ was unexpected," said Danny, staring at the door.

"I quite say I have to agree," said a voice in Danny's ear, and Danny yelled in surprise, whirling in mid-air and falling ungracefully on his rear.

He found himself staring up at one of the most ridiculous ghosts he'd ever seen. And that was saying something.

The ghost stood somewhere between seven and eight feet tall with brawny arms, thick legs, and tiny feet. He was resplendent in clothes that made him look like a 17th century duke, sword included, along with enough ruffles to make his chest seem twice as large. The large, plumed hat that appeared twice as big as his head completed the outfit.

Danny stared stupidly. "Who're you?"

"The Gentleman Ghost, at your service," he said with a slight bow and a sweep of his hat.

Danny didn't move, but his jaw managed to drop a little lower. "At my WHAT now?"

"You're service," he stated again. Danny listened incredulously to the regal, booming voice. It was like listening to his dad-gone-noble.

"Actually," broke in the ghost again, after it became quite obvious that Danny wasn't going to be able to speak anytime soon, "I'd be very much obliged if you would ask what _I_ need."

Danny looked at him suspiciously but decided to bite. "Alright," he said, "How can _I_ be of service?"

The ghost grinned widely. "Glad you asked, son!"

Danny couldn't believe this. He was going to be late because some ghost wanted his help. Therapy would be in order before this was all over. Ah well; Jazz could probably hook him up with some psychologist or something. On the other hand, the _last_ time Jazz had signed him up for psychological help it hadn't exactly been a whirligig of fun. The ghost cleared his throat loudly and spoke again, breaking into Danny's inner musings.

"I'm searching for the ghost hunters," he stated.

Danny perked up instantly. "You mean Jack and Maddie Fenton?" he asked incredulously.

"Exactly!" boomed the ghost. "Knew you were the one to ask! How do you know them?"

"I'm their son, Danny Fenton," replied Danny.

"Ah," said the ghost, nodding his head and beaming. "Good connections you've got there."

Danny nodded his head automatically, trying to be reasonable. It would be great if he could talk his way out of the situation for once. If he could finish this quickly he might even get to school on time, what with his handy flying abilities. "What do you want with them?"

"Well," said the ghost, "I'm going to kill them."

"WHAT!" cried Danny, jumping instantly to his feet.

The ghost nodded gravely. "They made me rather angry. I don't like getting shot at. I'm afraid they'll have to go."

"It's too bad you'll have to go first!" shouted Danny, dropping his backpack and whipping out the Fenton Thermos, pointing it directly in his face.

The ghost's demeanor changed instantly. He suddenly loomed tall, filling an entire corner of the living room, eyes burning with hate. He grabbed Danny's leg before he could react, his ruffles bursting into flames.

"RUDENESS RUNS IN YOUR FAMILY!" he roared, and Danny had a second to think "oh _crap_" before being thrown across the room.

He hit the wall with a painful thud and slid behind the couch. "So much for talking things through," he thought, the familiar rings already appearing, traveling across his body as he went ghost.

Danny Phantom flew up and into the room where he glared at the Gentleman Ghost. "Forget to say excuse me?" he shouted loudly.

The ghost looked taken aback. "WHO ARE YOU?" he roared, still angry.

Oh, for the love of…just because he hadn't _seen_ Danny transform. Honestly, it was as bad as Superman putting on a pair of glasses. Danny sighed. And yet, somehow, both disguises always worked.

"Danny Phantom!" he shouted back fiercely, deciding to roll with it.

"My fight is not with you! Where is the Fenton boy?"

Danny rolled his eyes. "He…uh…went to school."

The ghost seemed to buy it. Definitely _not_ the smartest cookie in the jar.

"Do not presume to fight someone else's battle," continued the ghost, unperturbed, his ruffles still flaming cheerfully.

"I will presume what I want. I won't let you kill my, uh…the ghost hunters!"

"Fine," said the ghost, glaring at Danny with flaming pupils. "Let the duel commence."

"Duel?" asked Danny with a snort. "What makes you think this is a…"

The ghost whipped out his sword, holding it majestically above his head.

"Oh."

"I AM LORD SPOOK-A-LOT AND VENGEANCE WILL…be…what?"

Danny's attempt at a straight face cracked under the strain and he burst into laughter.

"Lord Spook-A-Lot? You come up with that yourself?"

He looked enraged. "I HAVE RIGHTEOUS ANGER ON MY SIDE!" he screamed, ghostly spittle flying.

Danny laughed harder and leaned against the wall, gasping for air.

"Righteous…ha-ha...anger?" Bah-hahahahahahahaWHOA!" He fell through the wall and got an upside down view of the kitchen before he caught himself. He reversed back into the living room, wiping a tear from his eye. "Haha…sorry…just," he looked up and barely dodged a vicious swing that managed to nearly split the wall in two.

"HEY!" said Danny. "Calm down! I just…well, okay, I made fun of your name, but that doesn't mean you WAAA!" Danny dodged another attack, Lord Spook-A-Lot apparently too angry for words.

"Alright," said Danny angrily. "Business it is." His hands glowed briefly green and he shot a ghost ray toward the Gentleman Ghost who whooshed away with a rather unnecessary flourish.

Danny swooped after him and punched him soundly in the face. The ghost flew across the room, hitting the wall with a loud crash. Danny refrained from wincing in sympathy considering that he was the enemy, but it didn't matter. Lord Spook-A-Lot was suddenly back in his face, leaving behind an oddly-shaped dent in the wall.

He slashed at Danny recklessly, announcing each swing with an over-exaggerated flail of his arms, but was fast enough that Danny was hard-put to dodge all his attacks. His sword flashed an inch past Danny's head, close enough that Danny felt some sort of ectoplasm splatter lightly onto his cheek.

He flipped in the air, kicking Lord Spook-A-Lot as he wiped at his face. His skin tingled where the ectoplasm had been, somewhere between the sensation of itch and burn.

"Yech!" he said, staring at his sleeve where he'd wiped off the goo. "What was that?"

The Gentleman Ghost stopped long enough to howl at Danny, roaring, "THAT WAS THE STING OF MY RIGHTEOUS ANGER!"

"Oh, sure," said Danny, trying to clear out his ringing ears, "Now I'm really 'spooked a lot'." He smirked and blasted a ghost ray toward the fiend.

With an ear-splitting bellow the ghost was on him. As dumb as the explanation had been, Danny really didn't relish the thought of getting hit with anymore of the "righteous anger" that seemed to be coating the ghost's sword, and he rolled in the air, dodging quickly.

Lord Spook-A-Lot circled him quickly, slashing down ever few seconds while Danny tried to get a punch in past the flashing blade. He gasped for breath. This guy was _fast_. He took a second to pause and take a breath, but quickly realized his mistake. Lord Spook-A-Lot was no longer in front of him and Danny whirled quickly, just in time to take the sword slash to the chest.

He gasped sharply and jerked backwards, but Lord Spook-A-Lot was already crowing in triumph at the site of the wound that stretched from Danny's navel to his breast bone.

Danny, on the other hand, was _pissed_.

A round-house kick to the head drove Lord Spook-A-Lot into the wall, and he slid to the ground unconscious, sinking through the floor. Danny waited for him to rise through the floor again, but there was no site of the ridiculous feathered hat. He sighed in relief and inspected the slash.

As long as the cut was, it was actually relatively shallow, a good testament to Danny's lightning fast reflexes. It oozed ectoplasm weakly, but Danny could tell just from looking at it that it would stop soon. He heaved another sigh of relief. He _really_ hadn't been looking forward to explaining a large gash up his chest to his parents.

Danny considered following his unconscious opponent into the basement to make sure that he'd effectively gotten rid of Lord "Spoke-A-Lot," but happened to glance at the clock instead.

Oh, _CRAP_.

He had exactly one minute to get to school before Mr. Lancer owned his butt. Panicked, his gaze swept the room until he caught sight of his backpack, which had, surprisingly, survived the fight. He grabbed it and swooped down the hall, completely forgetting both foe and Fenton Thermos, still rolling innocuously around under the couch.

He was flying for the door at top speed when his vision blurred suddenly and he lurched, crash landing into the floor. He barely managed to keep himself from reverting to human mode, and lifted himself on shaky limbs to a standing position. He shook his head dazedly.

_WHOA._ _Where did THAT come from?_ he thought, trying to ignore the stinging from his chest when he'd plowed into the floor. He glanced at the clock again.

Forty five seconds. He did _not_ have time for this.

Danny shook himself a final time, grabbed his backpack once more, and flew out the door, praying with all he had that he would make it on time.

Mr. Lancer would NOT be pleased.

* * *

Stick around. Next chapter will be up either next week or the week after that. 


	2. Chapter 2

Whoo! Second chapter! throws up the horns

**Disclaimer: **It's not mine. Fine. Go ahead. Smirk. I shall rule the world someday. And then you shall all die. But make sure you review first!

* * *

Mr. Lancer was NOT pleased. Fifteen seconds to the bell and Mr. Fenton was nowhere to be seen. That boy had no sense of responsibility whatsoever. Not like his sister—that girl was going places.

The second hand ticked inevitably toward the twelve. Tucker and Sam exchanged glances, Sam's expression triumphant, Tucker's a sad display of desperation. He had five bucks riding on Danny arriving within five seconds of the bell, Sam, five seconds after.

Ten seconds to the bell.

Tucker leaned forward in his seat, his eyes glued to the door as the clock ticked inevitably onward. A mantra of "come on Danny" echoed in his head and he strained against the confines of his desk as if pushing his friend on. He had one second left not to let him down.

The bell rang and Tucker's head hit the desk like a ton of bricks. He held up the $5 in a limp hand, a green surrender flag flapping sadly in a wind of broken dreams.

Sam smirked and reached for the prize money, waiting for Danny to burst in at any moment.

Her hand stopped its ominous ascent onto the defenseless money, and she frowned at the clock. Six seconds and no Danny. Seven seconds and Tucker lifted his head to incredulously stare first at the clock, then to Danny's empty seat. Suddenly he grinned.

"You lose," he said, moving to put the money back in his wallet.

Mr. Lancer plucked it out of his clutches. Tucker stared stupidly at his empty hand.

"Betting is against school rules, Mr. Foley," said Mr. Lancer sternly. "I'll see you after class."

The money disappeared into the bowels of Mr. Lancer's desk, and Tucker let out an involuntary whimper.

Sam rolled her eyes. "Give it a rest, Tucker."

"But, but," he began pathetically. "Money…my precious, precious money…"

"Mr. Lancer's precious money," corrected Sam. She saw Tucker's kicked puppy dog look. "You'll get your money back eventually. Now shut it. I'm getting worried about Danny."

They both glanced at the clock and watched as the second hand ticked past a minute. They exchanged worried glances and ignored a rather boring lecture on subjunctive verbs. Danny was often late, but it was usually the kick-in-the-pants type of late, where if he'd finished fighting just a few seconds earlier than he had, he would have made it.

The door creaked open at three minutes past, and Tucker and Sam breathed twin sighs of relief. The class glanced sleepily at the door and Mr. Lancer stopped his lecture. Time for the daily Fenton Fiasco, a form of arrival that involved bursting through doors at dangerous speeds.

The door, however, refused to burst, instead swinging wide with a creaky groan. The class looked at one another suspiciously. This was new. Tucker and Sam frowned.

But it was most definitely Danny. A quiet and leaning heavily on the door frame Danny, but Danny nonetheless. Ah well, geeks come and go as they please.

"Pleasure to have you join us, Mr. Fenton," said Lancer dryly. "Take a seat. I'll see you after class."

Danny blinked slowly as if he didn't understand, then did as he was told, dragging what felt like brick-filled limbs to his seat and sitting down heavily.

Tucker leaned forward and poked Danny in the back. "What's up? You look fried. Ghost attack this morning?"

Danny grunted in an affirmative way, head on his desk. "Yeah," he said. "Whatever." He really didn't feel like getting into it now.

Tucker raised his eyebrows. "Well _someone_ certainly got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning."

Danny grunted again.

"Eh," said Sam. "He was probably up half the night fighting ghosts." She shrugged and the look clearly said something along the lines of "Heroes. What can you do?"

Tucker shrugged back a "not a whole lot," and smirked, miming punching Danny in the back of the head.

Danny ignored the fascinatingly wordless conversation going on behind him. He was _not_ in the mood.

By the time he'd reached the school he'd been flying at half speed. He hadn't even heard the bell ring, and then couldn't summon the energy to burst into the classroom as if he'd at least been _trying_ to get to school on time. He felt, to be honest, undeniably weird, as though someone had stuffed his head with cotton.

Danny half-heartedly reached for notebook paper and placed it on his desk, attempting, for once in his high school career, to take notes.

It was a valiant effort, but when he couldn't find the pen that had rolled onto his lap, he gave up, head dropping onto the desk with an audible thump. Mr. Lancer frowned, but Danny was too busy staring uncomprehendingly at the wall to notice. It stretched off in weird tangents, and the class passed in a blurry haze.

"Mr. Fenton!" a voice finally barked loudly into his ear. Danny jerked up, bruising his knee once again in the process. He stared up at his teacher. "Mr. Fenton," Lancer stated again. "You are in enough trouble as it is. Does my class bore you?"

"Yeah…" replied Danny blearily. Behind him the class sniggered into their hands.

"Great Expectations!" thundered Mr. Lancer. "Detention!"

Danny opened his mouth to argue when his head pounded sharply and Mr. Lancer tilted crazily to the side. He realized, with a sudden thrill of horror, that he really, _really_ needed to get out of there.

He jumped to his feet and very nearly into a startled Mr. Lancer and tried to sprint for the door. He tripped over his bag and sprawled onto the floor.

The class laughed openly and enjoyed the value of good geek entertainment. Sam and Tucker stared at each other. Had Danny's ghost sense gone off? Sam sighed. Go figure that he would effectively botch his exit by tripping over his own backpack. Tucker sighed as well. Go figure that he would miss an opportunity to document his friend's botched attempt at an exit after tripping over his own backpack.

Mr. Lancer looked outraged. Usually the boy had at least _some_ form of excuse before tearing out of his class.

Danny, on the other hand, wasn't interested in anyone else's opinion. He had to get out of there, and NOW. Danny got back on his knees, but it was too late. His stomach gave a terrific heave and he clamped a hand over his mouth, too busy trying to note puke all over Mr. Lancer's floor to hear the amused laughter behind him turn to sounds of startled disgust.

"Ugh, _gross_," cried Dash, horrified. "I don't wanna' see what Fentino eats…"

"Shut it," snapped Sam angrily. She rushed to Danny's side. "Danny? You okay…?" Danny brushed away her hand and scrambled to his feet, racing for the bathroom.

Tucker raised his eyebrows. "Uh, good question, Sam," he said, gesturing towards the door.

"Sorry," she said sarcastically. "It's standard."

"Isn't it always," he replied with a humorless smile.

"Tucker," broke in Lancer. "Make sure he hasn't run into a locker and killed himself."

Tucker didn't argue, just raced after his friend. Sam stood to follow.

"I don't think so, young lady. Nothing good ever happens when you three all skip my class simultaneously."

Sam sent him a dirty look but dropped sulkily back into her chair.

* * *

There were no Danny-sized dents in the lockers, so Tucker thanked his, and Danny's, lucky stars as he hurried into the boy's bathroom.

"Danny…?" he asked. "Are you in…?"

The sound of Danny heaving himself dry into the toilet reached Tucker's ears and his question died in his mouth. Take _that_ as a rather disgusting yes.

"Geez, Danny. You wanna' keep some of your organs _inside_ your body?"

Danny tried to scramble to his feet, but halfway there discovered that he wasn't done by a long shot.

Tucker grimaced. NOT a sound you want to hear as a general rule, and especially not this early after breakfast.

The toilet finally flushed and Danny emerged looking considerably greener than usual, disregarding the wonders of ectoplasm. Tucker's look of "eeewwwwww" changed instantly to concerned worry for his friend.

"Man," he said. "You look like crap."

Danny, who had stumbled over to the sink and was rinsing out his mouth, looked up into the mirror at Tucker. "Thanks," he said dryly. "Thanks a whole ton."

"Hey," said Tucker, thumbs up and smiling. "I'm here for you."

Danny groaned, and it was unclear if it was because of his stomach, or because of the techno geek's less than heartening words.

"Well," said Tucker. "You've effectively gotten us out of class for five minutes. Not to mention with a valid excuse. We should probably go before Mr. Lancer sends out search parties."

"Fine," said Danny. "Sounds good." He took a step and ran into the sink.

Tucker grabbed his arm to keep him from falling to the floor. "You sure you shouldn't just go home?" he asked, worried.

"Nah," said Danny, trying to bat away Tucker's hand and missing. "I feel a lot better."

"Fine," said Tucker, releasing Danny in an annoyed manner. If Danny wanted to pretend he was fine, he could go ahead. But he certainly wasn't in the mood to play his retarded game.

Danny smiled as if it would somehow make Tucker believe him, and promptly ran into the door.

Idiot.

Tucker rolled his eyes and walked toward the door, but Danny had managed to open it after a few attempts. He chuckled unconvincingly. "Eh, heh heh, guess I should look where I'm going, huh?"

"Sure Danny," said Tuck as they walked back to class.

* * *

Mr. Lancer frowned darkly at the door. Maybe he should send out a search party. They had been gone for seven minutes. Adolescent boys were dangerous when left without supervision for periods longer than 30 seconds.

Still, the English lesson must go on. He'd turned back to his lecture notes when the door swung open at last. Tucker walked in quickly, Danny following in a slow, stumbling gait. They dropped into their seats, Danny hiding his head in his hands at the thought of the class seeing him nearly barf into his hands only minutes before.

Mr. Lancer didn't bother stopping the lesson. Danny was paler than normal but quite a bit less green, so he imagined (and the imagery wasn't pretty) that he'd taken care of it in the bathroom.

Sam leaned toward Tucker, eyeing Danny. "What happened?" she whispered.

"Threw up about half his internal organs. Said he's 'fine'." Tucker emphasized the point with air quotes.

"Surprise, surprise," Sam replied. "And stupid, as usual."

Danny decided they'd said enough. "I threw up, guys. I'm not deaf." Sam could see him blushing furiously through the gaps in his arms. She patted his knee sympathetically.

"Good to hear _something's_ working, anyways."

The bell rang just in time to cut off a peeved Mr. Lancers call of "Detention!" at the whispering trio. Sam, however, spotted the tell-tale look on his face and rushed out the class before he could repeat himself.

"Byeguysmeetyouinthehall!"

Tucker looked taken aback. He peered at his watch and seemed impressed. "Well _that_ has to be a record. Where is she off to in such a hurry?"

"Mr. Foley, Mr. Fenton, come to my desk."

Tucker winced. "Ah. Never mind."

They walked slowly toward Mr. Lancer as the rest of the room emptied of their classmates. Tucker looked toward the door that Sam had disappeared out of. Traitor.

"Mr. Foley," began Lancer, pulling Tucker's attention back to him. He pulled the $5 from his desk. "Betting is against school rules. Unfortunately, I'm not allowed to confiscate your money." Tucker began to look hopeful. "So you'll be getting it back…" Tucker reached his hand forward "…in Detention. You may go." Tucker's face fell, but it didn't stop him from making good his escape.

"Mr. Fenton," Lancer said, turning on Danny. He dragged his gaze toward Mr. Lancer with some difficulty. "Late again. You're lack of responsibility is astounding." He started lecturing on the importance of punctuality and the value of good education, but Danny was too busy watching the fascinating way that Mr. Lancer faded in and out of focus to hear any of it. He swayed slightly on his feet, but Mr. Lancer was too focused on looking stern to notice.

"Detention!" he finished at last, "and I hope that will teach you to leave earlier for school."

Danny didn't respond. Mr. Lancer glared at him. "Detention, Mr. Fenton. Would you like to make it a weeks-worth?"

Danny forced his eyes to focus. "Uh, right, detention. I'll come on time," he repeated woozily.

Mr. Lancer pointed toward the door and Danny took the hint. He went for the exit, fumbled with the door knob, then managed to open it and leave.

Mr. Lancer sighed heavily. What had gotten into that boy?

* * *

Tucker and Sam stood outside the door, waiting for Danny to emerge. They hated to admit it, but he was really freaking them out this time.

Their elusive friend finally appeared, stumbling through the normally innocent door.

"Uh," said Tucker, staring at Danny. "So, you, uh, get detention?"

"Oh, I'm fine," replied Danny. "I'm feeling perfec'ly alright, thanks for asking."

Tucker and Sam exchanged looks, eyebrows raised impossibly high.

"Uh-huh," said Tucker. "So, detention? Yeah, that sucks man."

"Wha'? Oh! I mean, yeah, hate detention."

Sam looked into Danny's face, worry obvious in her violet eyes. "Danny. Are you sure you're alright?"

"What're you talkin' 'bout?" asked Danny. "I feel fine!"

Should've known. Stupid heroics. _She_ wasn't about to argue with him if he insisted on being a moron. "Fine. Whatever Danny." She and Tucker walked off, Danny trailing in their wake.

It didn't take long for the usual argument to start. Tucker, of course, was hungry and wanted a hamburger. Sam was horrified.

"You know that's disgusting, don't you?"

"Just because _I_ enjoy the wonders of meat doesn't mean you get to condemn my food choices."

"You're just insensitive to nature!"

"I'm not insensitive! I enjoy nature all the time!"

"By _eating_ it!"

"How else do you enjoy it?"

"ARGH!" she snarled out. "Tucker! That's just…Danny! Back me up here!" There was no response. "Danny…?"

They looked back and saw Danny several feet behind them, each foot staggering over the other and one hand grasping vaguely at the wall, trying desperately to navigate the swirling hall without falling or walking into the floor. His eyes were locked on the floor in front of him in perturbed concentration, a glassy stare that didn't seem to be helping him walk straight.

Okay, so this was probably worse than they'd suspected.

They rushed to his side, argument forgotten, as he doggedly continued his somewhat forward movement.

"Danny! Danny!" Sam half-shouted. "What happened?"

He lifted his head unsteadily and his glazed eyes attempted to get them in focus. Finally he frowned. "Tuck? Sam? What're you guys doin' 'ere?" he slurred.

Sam looked at Tucker. "_So_ not cool."

Tucker tried this time. "Danny? Come on, man. Who did this to you?"

Danny's head wobbled forward and he jerked it back up. "Mis'er Lancer likes ta' give detenshion."

Tucker slapped a hand to his head, frustrated and concerned. Sam grabbed Danny's shoulders and whirled him so that he was directly facing her. "_Danny_," she said forcefully. "_Who did this?_"

Danny finally stopped trying to walk forward and he looked at Sam seriously. He swayed on his feet.

"The man!" he said, pointing down the hall as though this mysterious person were walking up it. "The man wi' the big hat!" His knees buckled and it was fortunate that Tucker and Sam were already on either side of him, for they caught him beneath the armpits as he fell and were able to hold him up. Tucker looked at Sam over the arm Danny was still pointing limply down the hall.

"You know," said Tucker. "I think I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that he's delusional."

Sam shot Tucker an annoyed look. "Thank you Captain Obvious. Let's get him to the nurse's office." She turned here gaze from Tucker to Danny and her peevishness melted instantly into worry. "Danny?" she asked. "Danny, we're going to the nurse."

He frowned at her, consternation written clearly across his face. "Nurse? R'you sick?"

Sam opened her mouth to argue, but thought better of it. "Yes, Danny. I'm very sick and I need you to help me get to the nurse. Think you can walk on your own?"

Danny lifted his head to smile up at her. "Anythin' for you, Sam," he replied, then attempted to stand, completely oblivious to the spectacular blush he'd gotten out of his female friend.

Tucker smirked. Way to go Casanova.

With a little help Danny was back on his feet and weaving unsteadily toward his locker. Tucker and Sam followed as close as they could without becoming obstacles themselves in his trek down the treacherous hallway.

They were nearly there when Danny's legs decided to give way for a second time. He was falling for the floor when Tucker and Sam caught him again. Danny groaned, slipping forward, and Tucker grabbed him around the stomach before he could completely collapse.

"Are we going to make it?" he gasped out, tired from trying to hold up Danny. As much of a lightweight as he was, neither Tucker nor Sam would ever be guilty of excessive upper body strength.

"Uh," replied Sam, "I see his locker. We'll stop there for a second."

Tucker felt the hand holding Danny growing wet. He frowned. Was Danny sweating _that_ much? One look at Danny's face told him all he needed to know. "Sam," he said urgently, "Feel Danny's forehead."

She caught the urgency in Tucker's voice and for once didn't stop to argue. Her eyes widened as she placed a hand on his forehead. "He's burning up!"

"Thought so," mumbled Tucker, slipping Danny's arm over his shoulder to better support him. "I could feel the sweat running down his…" he stopped and stared wide-eyed at the hand he'd pulled away from Danny's stomach.

"I don't think this is a good sign."

He heard Sam's horrified gasp.

Tucker's hand was smeared with blood. He looked at Danny's shirt, and sure enough, a red stain was already growing on the white cloth where Tucker had been supporting him.

"Well _this _just gets better and better."

Sam whacked him, apparently not horrified enough to let Tucker get away with another retarded observation.

They propped him up against the lockers, needing a breather before continuing to the nurse. Danny slid to the floor. Tucker made a half-hearted gesture as though he were going to lift him back up, but Sam waved him off. He'd just slide down again.

Danny tilted his head up and saw that he was leaning against his locker. He reached a hand up and pulled himself up by the handle, legs and arms shaking as though he'd just run a mile. He leaned wearily against the cool metal and twirled the lock. It swung open with a resounding click.

"Guys?" he asked blearily. Tucker and Sam looked up from where they were trying to regain their breaths for the final haul. "Whadda' we have nex'? Math?"

Tucker swept an arm generously toward Danny and Sam rolled her eyes. "Thanks a lot, Tuck. Want me to explain to him why we're not going to math?"

Tucker gave her the thumbs up sign and she frowned in a threatening manner as though he were about to get the lecture of a lifetime when another voice boomed through the air, effectively cutting her off.

"Danny Phantom. I'm searching for Danny Phantom. He must be killed."

Tucker and Sam looked at each other with wide-eyes. Behind them Danny giggled. "Look, guys," he said. "Man wi' a big hat."

Lord Spook-A-Lot had come to Casper High.

* * *

Reviews make my head go around in happy whirls! Thank you so much! I was ecstatic just to see that I'd had so many hits. Speaking of reviews...

**Lateraina Wolf** : First I nearly died (in a good way)when I saw how long that review was. Then, when I realized that I actually recognized the author nameand adored her stories something inside me snapped. I spent the next 15 minutes running around my room in circles, nearly killing my roomie in the process. She will thank you for never reviewing again, and I will thank you for literally making my day. And you can ignore my roomie. She may die, but it is a price I'm willing to pay.

**Sevkitty** : Boo-ya!My villain is show-worthy. I will keep you in my thoughts, and when I am finally ruler of the world, the Sevkitty shall be exalted high above the heavens.

**Mina-chan AMD, purpledog100, and Sela-chan** : This one's for you. Hope you enjoyed the Danny torture :).

Aaaannd the next update. Unfortunately because of some up and coming tests and work I've been putting off for far too long, the next chapter will be up in two weeks. For sure no later, and quite probably not earlier. Pop around, and maybe, somehow, Danny will get out of his predicament.

Perhaps.


	3. Chapter 3

Yesterday I took a look at the last chapter, read the update promise, looked at some of my reviews, and was filled with a deep sense of shame. I picked up my notebook, saw the three sorry little pages I'd written, and proceeded to finish writing the chapter. Shame on me. Deep shame, and a thousand apologies.

So, slap on the wrist to me. I don't really have a good excuse--I just didn't feel like it. I've learned my lesson: no more update promises.

One promise, however, that I can make and _will_ keep is that I will not abandon this story. It may take me ten years to write (heaven above, I hope not), but it shall be finished. As lazy as I am, I have been really enjoying writing it. And of course the reviews are lovely :).

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Danny Phantom. I'd shout scandal and run about in mock anger, but it's honestly probably a good thing. If I was in charge there'd be about one new episode per year. That, and an angry mob would probably kill me. I quite like living, so I guess this one belongs to Butch Hartman.

Enjoy.

* * *

"Oh," said Tucker, staring at the be-plumed villain heading their way, "I guess Danny was telling the truth." 

"Danny Phantom," the voice boomed again. "Show yourself!"

As one, Sam and Tucker stared at Lord-Spook-A-Lot, looked at each other, then glanced at Danny. As they watched, he slid down his locker with an agonizing groan, hit the ground, and seemed to crumple in on himself.

"Then again," said Tucker, staring down at Danny's prone figure, "I don't think that knowing the bad guy has a big hat is going to ultimately help us."

Sam was already crouching at Danny's side, but she spared a glance from her worried perusal of Danny's face to glare at Tucker. "_Not helping_," she hissed angrily, "What're we going to do?"

Around them the hall had burst into screams, students running back and forth as several collided rather painfully. But as chaotic as the scene was, it felt rather rehearsed. The students at Casper High were far too used to ghostly invasions to bother screaming with as much volume as they used to.

Lord-Spook-A-Lot didn't notice. He was rather pleased.

Paulina dashed by, moaning dramatically, and he grabbed her arm. "Lady," he said, and Sam gnashed her teeth, "Pray tell, where might I find Danny Phantom?"

"AAA!" she screamed. "A GHOST!" The student body, as a general rule, ignored her, quite aware that there was, in fact, a ghost in their midst.

"Yes," Lord-Spook-A-Lot replied, looking perturbed. "That is correct. Now, Danny Pha—"

"AAA!" she screamed again, and vaguely tried to pull out of his grasp. "Save me! Save me!"

"Gentlewoman, I mean you no—"

"Save me!"

"Really, that's quite—"

"Where are you Danny Phantom?" Sam, for the first and last time that day, found perverse pleasure in the fact that Danny _Fenton_ was going nowhere.

"That's what I was—"

"Woe is me!"

"Now, really, I—"

"AAA!"

"THAT. IS. ENOUGH!" He finally roared, everything from the frills on his pantaloons to the enormous feather on his hat bursting into flames.

The entire hall froze.

He let Paulina go with a sharp jerk and she collided with Dash. She straightened and inspected her shirt. "Eewww, gross. He got, like, ghost spit on me."

Lord-Spook-A-Lot's eyebrows smoldered and burst into flames.

"QUIET!" he bellowed, and Paulina nearly fainted into Dash's arms. "DANNY PHANTOM! WHERE _IS_ HE?"

Nobody moved.

"FINE. THE FENTON BOY, THEN. WHERE IS _HE_? HE MUST BE KILLED AS WELL!" he tried again.

Only this time, the entire hall full of students shifted a little to gaze unwittingly at the trio of well-known losers.

Tucker stared in horror, petrified. Sam, still kneeling at Danny's side, grasped frantically at some sort of escape plan. Her eyes darted around the hall and she spotted Danny's locker, the door still swinging on its hinges. In the next second she had grabbed the front of Danny's shirt and thrown him bodily into his locker. She slammed the door shut.

Lord-Spook-A-Lot, while he hadn't noticed the gaze shifting in the student body, couldn't but hear the loud slam in the eerily quiet hall. He stared at Tucker and Sam menacingly and seemed to grow larger.

Tucker finally un-froze. "Oh wow, Sam," he said, voice absurdly loud and monotonous. "Was your locker not shutting properly again?"

"Yeah," she replied, matching his volume, as she leaned stiffly on the locker door. "Sometimes I just have to slam it to get it to stay closed."

Lord-Spook-A-Lot narrowed his eyes suspiciously. Tucker and Sam stared at random points on the wall and the ceiling as though they hadn't even noticed the addition of a ghostly duke to the Casper High student body. He floated over, students parting like the red sea as they pressed themselves against the walls. He finally stopped, looming over Sam and Tucker. They dragged their eyes to look up at Lord-Spook-A-Lot.

Their classmates watched with bated breath. What horror was he going to visit upon them?

Lord-Spook-A-Lot leaned in until he was inches away from Sam's face. And then, he sniffed.

Sam glanced at Tucker, faces identical expressions of disbelief. It wasn't even an impressive sniff. No horror movie/Lord of the Ring type evil and ominous "I'm coming for you" heavy breathing. Sam sighed. Go figure—she goes up against the most ridiculous ghost they'd ever seen and he sniffs at her. _Disdainfully._

Sam didn't know whether to laugh or scream.

Lord-Spook-A-Lot turned to Tucker who squashed himself up against the lockers, but he loomed closer and closer, little sniffs coming thick and fast. Suddenly, he smiled. It was undeniably evil.

Not the most reassuring thing Tucker had ever seen centimeters from his face, coupled with the still cheerily burning eyebrows.

"I got him," said the ghost with a knowing leer. "Didn't I?"

Tucker and Sam looked at each other and were afraid they knew exactly what he was talking about.

"I smell it," he said, eyes glinting triumphantly. "That boy's blood—unmistakable."

He spoke softly, but the entire hall, listening in fascinated horror, heard him anyways. Blood? Whose? Surely not that loser kid.

Lord-Spook-A-Lot's smile disappeared. "But what I want to know is WHERE IS HE!"

Tucker's hands shot to his ears. "Awww, _man!_ Did you have to do that right in my ear? That's just _rude_."

Lord-Spook-A-Lot seemed to wilt. "Oh," he said, looking abashed. "Dreadfully sorry. A thousand apologies," he added with a slight bow, still looking ashamed. "I commit myself to a duel of hon—"

A muffled, slightly echoed groan cut him off. He whirled on Sam and the oddly noisy locker she was desperately and ineffectually crushing in the hopes that it would muffle any more additional sounds. Lord-Spook-A-Lot seemed to swell.

Eyes wide, Sam grabbed her stomach and leaned over dramatically. "Ooh," she groaned loudly, peaking up at the incensed ghost through her bangs. "I'm really hungry. Stomachs make the weirdest sounds when…well…just sometimes." She continued holding her stomach, but smiled up at Lord-Spook-A-Lot hopefully, teeth bared in a toothy, serial-killer type smile.

If Tucker hadn't known specifically that she was trying to smile convincingly at the over-bearing ghost, he would've sworn she was about to pull out a knife and murder them all.

Lord-Spook-A-Lot continued glaring suspiciously, and the flames around him grew.

"Do. Not. _Lie_ to me. I can SMELL HIM, YOU FOOLISH CHILD! WHERE IS HE?"

Sam continued smiling, but her eyes darted over to Tucker in an "I'm out of ideas" plea. He stared back and tried to convey his own desperate lack of escape plans.

Her face barely changed, but her eyebrows dipped down so far that he realized, with a growing sense of fear, that if Lord-Spook-A-Lot didn't kill him, Sam would.

He looked down at his hands and scraped his brain frantically for ide—wait. His hands. The hand that grabbed Danny. The hand that was now covered with…

"BLOOD!" shouted Tucker, thrusting his hand into Lord-Spook-A-Lot's face. The shocked ghost jumped backwards and a sophomore girl behind him nearly became a smear on the wall.

"HERE!" shouted Tucker again, nearly hysterical as he waved his hand back and forth. "Here! Look! See? It's because I got some of his blood on my hand earlier!"

The hall burst into murmurs of horror, disgust, and, in most cases, disbelief. Tucker blinked and looked around, startled. He'd forgotten they had an audience.

And audience, mind you, that Danny probably didn't want knowing he was the ghost kid.

Tucker tried to hide his blood-smeared hand as though it would somehow make the suspicious mumbling go away, but Lord-Spook-A-Lot grabbed his wrist. Tucker felt the ice-cold sensation run through his arm as the ghost inspected his hand skeptically, at last sniffing once again. He relaxed his hold, and Tucker let out a sigh of relief.

He suddenly found himself six feet off the floor, his shirt clutched tightly in the balled fist of Lord-Spook-A-Lot. So _this_ is what it felt like to be Danny.

Tucker found he didn't like it all that much.

"WHERE IS HE!" roared the outraged ghost as he shook Tucker by the collar. "TELL ME, YOU INSOLENT BOY!"

Tucker tried to speak, but choked as the collar tightened around his throat. He let out a strangled "Ga-cKlc!" and pointed down the hall toward the nurse's office.

"YOU TRY MY PATIENCE, BOY! TELL ME!" He shook Tucker harder, who had started to turn blue.

"He can't breathe, you moron!" someone shouted.

Lord-Spook-A-Lot whipped around, dropping Tucker in the process as he searched the hall for someone else to shake. Tucker lay sprawled on the ground, breathing hard and coughing, and Sam would have run to his side if it hadn't meant leaving her post in front of Danny's locker.

Lord-Spook-A-Lot turned back angrily, unable to find and punish the rude perpetrator. Before he could grab Tucker and inadvertently kill him, the techno geek in question shouted through gasps of air, "He went…"—gasp—"To the nurse!"

The ghostly fiend stopped his ominous approach toward Tucker and slowly straightened, feathered hat brushing the ceiling. He seemed to ponder this new statement for a moment. "Ah," he said at last, "he seeks medical aid. It will not help him. My righteous anger is not so easily assuaged."

Someone snickered softly, but Tucker and Sam exchanged worried glances. "Righteous anger," as dumb as it sounded, was probably _not_ a good sign if Danny's inability to actually stand straight was any indication.

The locker groaned as if in agreement.

"So!" shouted Tucker, jumping to his feet as Lord-Spook-A-Lot turned a suspicious gaze toward Sam. "I'll show you the way to the nurse! Follow me!" He stood expectantly, poised to sprint down the hall. But Lord-Spook-A-Lot had already turned toward Sam.

They were going to die.

Or rather, Danny was.

He puffed up his chest as Sam glared defiantly, when, to the watching students' surprise, he dipped into a low bow, sweeping the hat off his head and nearly taking out a clump of freshmen who dove for cover as the gaudy feather zipped past.

"Apologies, my Lady," he straightened and turned to follow Tucker, but just as Sam was breathing again, he whirled and added, "And get a servant to bring you a meal. Tis' not wise to go on with such an empty stomach as yourself."

Sam stared dumbfounded as several students muffled their giggles. She rolled here eyes, and was about to turn to the locker-bound Danny when a nerd shouted, "Who are you?"

A knot of angry students were about to jump the unfortunate boy when Lord-Spook-A-Lot turned back, saving him from several kicks to the groin. "I," he stated, then noticed that he had an audience, and swelled majestically. "I, am Lord-Spook-A-Lot."

A silent second passed and it was obvious the dignified ghost was going to turn and stride dramatically down the hall when a nearly inaudible giggle broke the silence. The entire student body swiveled and stared at a girl who had desperately clamped her hands over her mouth and was shaking with badly disguised mirth. "He's," she said in explanation, "He's…" Giggle. "He's Lord…" Burst of laughter. "Sorry, I'm not laughing at you. Hahaha, actually I am…" More giggles. "He's Lord-_SpoOok_-A-Lot!" she finished, waving her hands dramatically, still giggling.

The hall was silent for another half second before someone else started to laugh.

"Well," came the unmistakable voice of Dash Baxter, "Now I'm really 'spooked-a-lot!'"

The jocks burst into hardy guffaws and the rest of the hall followed suit. Even Sam couldn't hold back a smirk.

Until she bothered looking at Lord-Spook-A-Lot.

She threw her hands over her ears a second before the ghost himself burst into flames, screaming, "YOU SHALL BE THE FIRST TO DIE!"

The hall emptied of noise immediately, and though it was clear from the way Lord-Spook-A-Lot's eyes swept the hall that he wasn't sure, exactly, who was going to be the first to die, Dash paled dramatically and hid behind Paulina, shaking violently.

"FINE!" he roared, and a deaf grandmother several miles away looked up from her knitting. "SO BE IT. I'VE DECIDED THAT YOU SHALL BE THE _SECOND_ TO DIE!" He turned back to Tucker to find the techno geek staring at him incredulously. "WHAT'RE YOU STARING AT? TAKE ME TO THE HEALER!" Tucker jumped and did as he was told, half-running down the hall. Lord-Spook-A-Lot stopped one last time and threw a threatening "BEHAVE! OR YOU SHALL FACE MY WRATH!" over his shoulder before vanishing around the corner.

There was an undeniable temptation to laugh, but no one wanted to risk being the third person to die, and the hall remained quiet as they watched the flaming ghost's back finish disappearing.

The hall was chaos in seconds as students continued their rudely interrupted escape, and Sam breathed a quick sigh of relief before turning to Danny's locker.

"Danny," she said quietly into the slots on the locker door. There was no response. "_Danny_," she said more urgently. The locker remained quiet and she frantically grabbed the lock, ready to open it and carry off Danny herself.

Until, that is, staring at the lock in her hand, she came to the sudden and utterly horrifying realization that she had no idea what his locker combination was.

* * *

To my all my lovely reviewers: Thank you. Your reviews mean the world to me. 

**Ytak: **I agree with your DS assessment (well gee, there's a big surprise :D ). DS is much more fun to write when they're running around going "I don't like like you!" and then sending each othe sly looks when the other isn't looking. That, and blatant DS-ness isn't actually in Danny Phantom, so who am I to mess with an awesome story?

**Anomoly25: **You chuckled when you first heard Lord-Spook-A-Lot's name? Yeah--me too. And then I found that I had to type it. Over. And over. And over again. Eventually I just copied and pasted it all over the place :). Good to hear they're IC. It always makes me feel good to hear that since it is, after all, what I'm going for :).

**Mia The Storm Wolf: **Actually, this story started out as a small blurb that boiled down to Danny being delusional in front of the majority of the school. Then of course I had to figure out _why_ exactly he was delusional in front of the entire school...and it just went from there. Glad to see I'm not the only one really enjoying this :).

**Lateraina Wolf: **Your reviews rock my world. As do your stories. And...insert evil laughter here...I hope you enjoyed this chapter's cliffhanger. Mwahahahaha.

**emera-fire22: **I'd say sorry for making you feel sick, but your review made me too happy. It's great knowing that I was able to convey his sickness that well. Thanks!

**Basser: **Your review made me laugh. Just thought you ought to know :).

**Rizzle: **Thanks for such a great review. Could you let me know how they're being OC? I'd change it myself, but I wrote it trying to make them as IC as possible and am a little blind to my own writing, if that makes sense. And really, what's the point of a lovely chapter if you can't throw in a cliffhanger at the end? Keeps 'em interested... :)

**Sila Ninque: **Monty Python _rocks. _So that comment means a lot to me. Oh, and don't worry. Mr. Lancer shall be making a reappearance soon...

Thanks again! And I shall update when...well...when I update!


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